


Clarity

by tastewithouttalent



Category: MEGANEBU!
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Morning Sex, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-11 18:31:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2078649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hotaka doesn’t move when Kyosuke slides off him and gets to his knees so he can pull the window shut. But the sash squeaks as the glass comes down, and Kyosuke’s grimace of preemptive apology doesn’t do anything to offset the wordless mumble from the other man." Kyosuke accidentally wakes Hotaka and upsets his plans to sleep in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clarity

Kyosuke manages to ignore the rising sun for several hours.

He would keep going, sleep straight through the morning and into the afternoon, but Hotaka wanted to leave the window open last night, and when the sun comes up high in the sky the illumination angles through the screen and directly into Kyosuke’s face. He can only ignore that for so long before the light starts to creep under his eyelids, force its way into his dreams; then he groans, shifts his weight, and forces his eyes open so he can blink at the blur of light past the window.

Hotaka doesn’t move when Kyosuke slides off him and gets to his knees so he can pull the window shut. But the sash squeaks as the glass comes down, and Kyosuke’s grimace of preemptive apology doesn’t do anything to offset the wordless mumble from the other man. He lets the blinds down quickly, but Hotaka is still moving to sit up before Kyosuke looks back down to the mattress, rubbing the back of his head and yawning hugely.

“Kyosuke.” His voice has the gravel undertones it takes on first thing in the morning, the one that says he’s only half-awake even though Kyosuke can’t actually see his expression clearly. “What time is it?”

“Too early.” Kyosuke pulls Hotaka back to the bed, or tries to. In actual fact all he manages to do is get an arm around the other man’s shoulders and himself pressed in against his chest; the falling-back-to-the-bed part fails to materialize, mostly because Hotaka is bracing himself against the mattress as if he saw this attack coming. “Let’s go back to sleep.”

“No,” Hotaka says, but Kyosuke can hear the soft smile in his voice, and his arm is coming up and around his shoulders. “Don’t you have homework assignments to grade today?”

“It’s early still,” Kyosuke protests.

“It’s not.” Hotaka is reaching for the table for his glasses. Kyosuke’s attempts to distract him by the expedient of rubbing his head against the other’s shoulder go unrewarded, though he gets himself a low chuckle for his trouble. “Drinking with you is never a good idea.”

“Drinking with me is a  _great_  idea,” Kyosuke protests. Hotaka has found his glasses; when Kyosuke looks back up he can make out the blur of shadow at the other man’s temples even if he can’t see the lenses themselves without his own frames. “We always have a good time.”

“You always have a good time,” Hotaka says. When he reaches out this time he comes back with Kyosuke’s glasses, fits them onto the other’s face one-handed and careful to avoid stabbing him with the frames. “Then you get drunk, and flirty, and pass out before you follow through with anything.” The lenses slide into place; Kyosuke blinks once to settle his vision, and when he looks up Hotaka’s smile is drawn clear across his face, undercutting the gentle criticism of his words. “You’re a terrible tease.”

“I’m not trying to be,” Kyosuke points out. When he turns his head sideways Hotaka’s fingers come up to ruffle idly through his hair, pulling the tangle of sleep into further disarray. “I’m sure I meant everything I suggested last night.”

He can feel Hotaka’s laugh purr through the other man’s chest, vibrate comfortably out through his skin and into Kyosuke’s body from their contact. “You usually do.”

“I could make it up to you,” Kyosuke points out. He doesn’t want to get out of bed yet, anyway, it’s not like the assignments can’t wait until later.

Hotaka’s fingers pull gently at his hair, smooth it back down into what at least feels orderly. “I had to take care of you again too.” There’s a protest there, almost a complaint if it weren’t laid over the rumble of a repressed laugh. “You’re such a burden, Kyosuke.”

“I owe you so much,” Kyosuke agrees. When he turns his head sideways he can press his mouth against Hotaka’s bare skin, can feel the other man’s breathing under his lips when he shuts his eyes and blocks out the distraction of vision. “Let me make it up to you, Hotaka-kun.”

Finger drag over his scalp, press in against the back of his head to pull him in closer. “Mm.” Hotaka’s not moving, yet; he’s still sitting upright, but his breathing is coming slightly faster against Kyosuke’s hair, his back is arching in a little to meet the other’s touch. “It is the middle of the day, we should be getting up.” His words are a protest but his touch is encouraging; Kyosuke knows him well enough by now to know that it’s the latter he should listen to, the fingers rather than the language that ought to guide him. So he doesn’t pull away, instead opens his mouth against the other’s chest so he can touch the tip of his tongue to Hotaka’s sleep-warm skin.

The contact makes the other man shiver faintly, laugh over the top of Kyosuke’s head as he starts to slide down Hotaka’s chest, pushing the blankets down to bunch around their knees so he can continue his motion unobstructed. Hotaka leans a little farther back, lowers himself a little closer to horizontal, and Kyosuke hums incoherent approval, reaches out to settle his fingers against the top edge of the boxers Hotaka generally wears to bed.

“You should have done this last night,” Hotaka says as Kyosuke comes down past his ribcage, into the warm resistance of the other man’s stomach under his mouth. “We wouldn’t have to rush.”

“I’m not rushing,” Kyosuke points out. He intends it to sound haughty, but he’s never been very good at that particular tone; it just comes out slightly defensive instead. It makes Hotaka laugh anyway, and as he chuckles he drops back to the mattress entirely, and that is a victory no less satisfying for being a foregone conclusion. It means Kyosuke can relax into Hotaka’s chest, reach up to drag the fingers of his free hand along the other man’s neck to win a purr of appreciation even before he pulls Hotaka’s clothes down an inch off his hips. The fingers at his hair slide backwards, down against his neck until Hotaka is pressing sensation in against Kyosuke’s shoulders; the contact makes Kyosuke shiver, curl his spine in to push in harder against the other man’s touch. Hotaka’s hands are steady, weighted as much with confidence as with their actual physical presence; they feel like reassurance together with affection, draw a sigh of satisfaction from Kyosuke even before Hotaka tightens his fingers to scratch gently across his shoulders.

Hotaka is still tracing patterns in over Kyosuke’s back when the other man moves again, shifts his lips to drag deliberately across Hotaka’s stomach so he can continue his slow slide down over the other man’s body. His glasses catch, slip off-center, and when Hotaka laughs Kyosuke can feel the vibration shake through the skin under his lips.

“Can you see what you’re doing?” Hotaka asks. One hand pulls up, tugs Kyosuke’s hair up against its usual fall so his scalp tingles warm with the sensation.

“Nope.” Kyosuke is down at Hotaka’s hips, now. He pauses to push the other man’s minimal clothing entirely aside, down his thighs to his knees, and Hotaka brings one leg up so he can kick the fabric off entirely. When Kyosuke shifts back in he fits in between the other man’s legs, changing his angle from casual to deliberate even before he has shifted his mouth down the last distance. “I don’t need to.”

“Planning to do this blind?” Hotaka pushes himself back up on an elbow, trails his fingers in against Kyosuke face so he can press a thumb against the other man’s cheekbone.

“I can figure it out by touch,” Kyosuke declares, shutting his eyes to prove his point. He feels his way sideways over Hotaka’s hip, follows the line of bone and muscle across until his fingers brush against the other man’s hardening length. “It’s not that difficult.”

“Maybe you’re not doing it right,” Hotaka teases.

Kyosuke huffs, opens his eyes and turns his chin up so he can look at Hotaka through his lopsided glasses. The other man is smiling, the expression warm for all that it’s tight with amusement; he looks wholly composed, calm and more than half-expectant, as though Kyosuke going down on him first thing in the morning is an ordinary occurrence.

To be fair, Kyosuke reflects, it’s not particularly  _unusual_. Still, while he likes Hotaka’s composure he  _really_  likes to see it melt off into the distraction of pleasure. He pushes up on his elbow, reaches up to straighten his own glasses and steady his vision, and when he tips his head back down he keeps his eyes open, keeps his gaze focused on Hotaka’s face as he leans in to brush his parted lips just over the other man’s length.

There’s a flicker of response in Hotaka’s eyes at the contact, a flash of reaction that knocks his expression soft and uncontrolled for a moment; Kyosuke can feel the flush of blood under his mouth as Hotaka’s body commits fully to arousal in response to the contact. Even when Hotaka takes a breath and composes his features his eyes stay warm, relaxed at the corners and gentle as the fingers still idly feathering through Kyosuke’s hair.

“Not doing it right?” Kyosuke repeats back, and Hotaka starts to grin before the other man licks over his length, deliberately fast so Hotaka shudders and arches up for more as Kyosuke’s pulling away. “Are you sure about that?”

“Maybe you can convince me otherwise,” Hotaka suggests. “I’m willing to be persuaded.” He has one eyebrow arched up over the put-upon skepticism in his eyes, a laugh pulling the corners of his mouth tight and delighted. Kyosuke knows he’s being teased -- it’d be hard not to know -- but he doesn’t mind, not when he gets to watch Hotaka’s expression all but glowing with anticipation and amusement together. He sighs, shakes his head in mock resignation, and Hotaka starts laughing properly, low and rumbling with pleasure even before Kyosuke brings his mouth down to take him properly past his lips and turn the laughter into a groan of appreciation. The other man’s fingers drag back off Kyosuke’s face and up into his hair, pull into a gentle fist; Kyosuke doesn’t protest or move away, just keeps his chin tipped so he can watch Hotaka’s eyes as he moves in farther so he can slide his tongue up over the other man’s length in his mouth.

“That’s not bad,” Hotaka admits. His voice has dropped lower than his more typical tone; Kyosuke would swear he can feel the resonance pouring down Hotaka’s arm to tingle through the fingers tight in his hair. “You have potential, you know.”

Kyosuke makes a noise that is intended as a scoff but turns unintelligible around the obstruction to his tongue, and Hotaka laughs, lets his fist relax as Kyosuke dips his head, comes up deliberately slowly so he can drag suction in his wake as he moves. Hotaka’s eyelashes flutter; Kyosuke can see the involuntary movement of the other man’s throat on a swallow, the way his mouth comes open slightly on his inhale even before Kyosuke can come back down for another stroke. It makes him smile, or at least draws his mouth tighter against the other man’s length, though he doesn’t stop moving. He’s distracted from the movement of his head by the expression on Hotaka’s face, his rhythm skewed by the heat rising to turn Hotaka’s eyes into liquid gold. There’s a faint salt-metallic burn at the very back of his tongue, a dull, familiar ache in his jaw, but neither are enough to offset the way Hotaka’s face is sliding into unfettered affection, the way his fingers are dragging gentle and contact-desperate over Kyosuke’s scalp. Kyosuke can feel the slow climb of tension in Hotaka’s fingers as much as see it drawing his eyes hot, pulling his mouth into an unconscious frown of focus. He’s staring at Kyosuke’s face but there’s no attention behind his glasses; he’s looking through the other man’s features rather than at them, all his thoughts winding tight in response to the drag of Kyosuke’s tongue and the shift of his lips.

Kyosuke’s spine is tingling with secondhand pleasure, borrowed in sympathetic echo of the heat washing visibly over Hotaka’s expression, and the warmth collecting low in his abdomen is starting to become insistent rather than anticipatory, but Hotaka is going fast, his breathing is coming audible and his fingers are moving faster and more arrhythmic in Kyosuke’s hair. Then he takes a deep breath, drawn long and gasping in his throat, and Kyosuke knows he’s going, reaches out to grab at Hotaka’s hip even before the other man arches up, tips his head back, and groans out almost-pained reaction as he rocks up into Kyosuke’s mouth and comes hot and bitter against the other man’s tongue. The fingers in Kyosuke’s hair clench tight for a moment; then Hotaka sighs, drags the exhale warm and relaxed over his throat, and lets his hold go, lets his fingers trail down until he can curl his hand in against Kyosuke’s neck.

“Not bad,” he admits, and Kyosuke huffs a humming laugh and slides back, swallows so there’s just a lingering bitter on his tongue when he comes back up over the other man’s body for a kiss. Hotaka drops back on the bed, wraps one arm around Kyosuke’s shoulders to hold him steady; when he rolls sideways Kyosuke follows his impetus so they trade positions and Hotaka can come up to brace himself over the other man.

“You have real potential,” he praises, grinning even when Kyosuke wrinkles his nose and reaches up to gently push his face aside.

“You’re terrible,” he says. “You don’t even have any complaints.”

“I do have one.” Hotaka ducks his head, kisses in against Kyosuke’s shoulder while his fingers trail down over the other man’s bare chest.

Kyosuke catches a breath at the touch, shifts on the mattress as if the  movement will draw Hotaka’s fingers down faster. “What’s that?”

“You ought to know,” Hotaka says against his shoulder as his fingers push past the elastic of Kyosuke’s pajama pants, his hand fits in against Kyosuke’s hip. “It’s repayment I’m thinking of.”

“Oh,” Kyosuke says. It’s about the most coherency he can muster; his attention is focused with pinpoint desperation on Hotaka’s fingers, on trying to determine if he’s going to move them. “Well. Yeah, good.”

“Good?” Hotaka echoes back, lifts his head to kiss Kyosuke’s jaw so the other man can feel the smile pulling tight at his lips. “Glad we agree.”

“Yeah.” Kyosuke wiggles again, shifts himself an inch sideways, an inch closer to where he wants Hotaka’s fingers. “We do.”

“It is an oversight,” Hotaka says calmly, as if Kyosuke isn’t starting to breathe too-fast with desperation for his touch. “I hope you see my point?”

Kyosuke opens his mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a high whine of anxious want; after a moment he can drag it around into the other man’s name, a whimpered “ _Hotaka-kun_ ” as much protest as it is plea. Hotaka laughs, presses his lips in against Kyosuke’s neck in a kiss, and Kyosuke is just tipping his head sideways to give him better access when Hotaka pulls his hand sideways and drags his fingers gently up over Kyosuke’s length. Kyosuke whines in appreciation, rocks up off the mattress and against Hotaka’s teasing fingers, and Hotaka starts to laugh in earnest, the sound rumbling ticklish vibration into Kyosuke’s skin as he closes his fingers around the other man and strokes up over him slow and careful. Hotaka lifts his head, looks down on Kyosuke from the advantage of his position; Kyosuke’s gaze focuses in on his eyes, linger there while the other man’s fingers slide up over him, while Hotaka’s mouth pulls into a smile more affectionate than amused.

“You’re amazing,” he says, calm like he’s just stating a fact. “Kyosuke. You’re a mess, you know, you’re a mess and ridiculous and you pass out instantly when you’re drunk, and I love you so much for all of that.”

Kyosuke closes one hand on Hotaka’s shoulder in a pointless attempt to hold him steady while he rocks up in uncontrolled desperation for more friction from the other man’s hand on him. “You -- you think I’m ridiculous?”

Hotaka laughs again. “You  _are_  ridiculous.” He leans in to kiss Kyosuke, draws his fingers tight and his thumb hard against the other man’s length so Kyosuke gasps a startled breath of sensation and can’t adequately return the kiss. Hotaka kisses the corner of his mouth instead, grinning so wide Kyosuke can feel the expression without even seeing it clearly. There’s the tap of Hotakas glasses in against his; then Hotaka shifts up to his cheek, sighs out against his skin so Kyosuke’s glasses go foggy and white with the warmth of his breath.

“I love you anyway,” Hotaka’s voice comes while Kyosuke’s vision is still clearing, before Kyosuke can clearly make out the smile on the other man’s face as he looks down on him. “Maybe because you’re ridiculous.”

Kyosuke opens his mouth, intending to give some kind of coherent response to rally back the banter. But Hotaka’s hand pulls over him faster, Hotaka’s fingers draw tighter on him, and in the first wash of overheated pleasure he can’t form thoughts or words, can only manage to groan and shut his eyes so he can focus on the rising wave of sensation in his blood.

“You’re amazing,” Hotaka says again, still calm and steady as if Kyosuke can follow the sound of his words. The meaning is starting to slide away, but the trembling vibration is falling into sync with the friction of his fingers, soothes away the leading edge of desperation in Kyosuke’s hold on the other man’s shoulder into comforting contact instead of anxious need. “You’re amazing, Kyosuke, just relax into it.”

“Hotaka-kun,” Kyosuke manages, and then he gets his eyes open. Hotaka is watching his face, his expression warm and mouth pulled into a smile so faint it must be unconscious. “Hotaka-kun, please don’t stop.”

“I’m not going to stop,” Hotaka says, and draws his hand up a little faster so Kyosuke shudders involuntarily. His free hand shifts in closer so he can press his wrist against Kyosuke’s shoulder to hold him in place. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Kyosuke can feel the last of his coherency sliding away, concern for anything beyond the heat flushing his skin in ripples of sensation falling through the gaps in his attention, and he can’t muster the effort to pull them back in. Hotaka’s smile says it’s fine, Hotaka’s fingers are holding him steady and drawing heat up faster and faster through Kyosuke’s body; Kyosuke rocks up for more, hits an involuntary rhythm, and his vision is just starting to slide out of focus on Hotaka’s gold eyes when the satisfaction hits him and everything melts off into waves of pleasure for a minute.

When he blinks himself back into awareness, Hotaka is still smiling down at him, the expression wider and brighter now as his eyes drift in idle consideration of Kyosuke’s features.

“How are you?” the other man asks, letting Kyosuke go so he can trail his fingers back up over the flush turning Kyosuke’s chest radiant with warmth.

“Mm.” Kyosuke shuts his eyes, takes a slow breath. “Good.” He draws his hand up over Hotaka’s arm, loops it around the other man’s neck. “Let’s sleep a little longer.”

“Kyosuke,” Hotaka sighs. It sounds like a laugh. “You need a shower.” He lays his palm flat and sticky against Kyosuke’s chest. “See?”

“Jerk,” Kyosuke declares. “Now I have to get up.”

“You’ve seen through my cunning ploy.” Hotaka’s mouth brushes in against Kyosuke’s forehead, draws a smile out of the other man in spite of his feigned irritation. “Come on, I’m not going to let you lie in bed all day.”

Kyosuke whines in gentle protest, but when he opens one eye Hotaka’s smile is too much to resist, and when the other man starts to move off the bed Kyosuke follows him like they’re tangled together with invisible thread. Hotaka reaches back without looking, intertwines his fingers with Kyosuke’s to pull the other in closer, and when Kyosuke leans down to kiss at Hotaka’s shoulder he can just glimpse the smile at the other’s lips.

There are some benefits to getting up, after all.


End file.
